


Darkly bright, bright in dark directed

by onvavoir



Series: Where your true image pictur’d lies [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blind Date, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, extremely improbable scenarios
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3978781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onvavoir/pseuds/onvavoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on <a href="http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1296.html?thread=1590800#cmt1590800">this prompt</a> in the Daredevil kink meme:</p><p>  <i>Natasha figures out that her yenta-ing keeps falling flat because Steve would rather go out with a nice guy than a nice girl, so she sets him up on a date with this hot young lawyer who's been fighting for justice and defending the weak. Steve catnip, basically. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkly bright, bright in dark directed

_A friend of a friend of a friend._

***

Steve repeats it to himself under his breath as he walks down the sidewalk. He's careful not to let his lips move. Eyes down, wearing a scarf, trying to look as little like himself as possible-- if that's possible. Out of the corner of his eye he can see someone staring at him. Keep moving. Remain calm.

The concept is dubious, the source even more so. Nat had not been playing fair when she switched from _Kathy_ and _Amanda_ to _Matthew_ and had wrongfooted him just long enough to coerce him into this. And Sam, who should have had his back, had instead stuck a knife in it.  _What harm could it do? At least you might get a good story out of it._  Et tu, Sam.

So now he's on his way to a blind date. He's faced the Red Skull and Hydra, stopped a mass murder, but Steve is three seconds and a modicum of self-control away from turning around and going right back home. Except he tried that, and a little red dot mysteriously appeared on the breast of his jacket. No amount of serious frowning at nearby rooftops made it go away. It was only after he turned back around and continued towards the restaurant that it disappeared.

He pauses around the corner to collect himself. Takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders back. Think of it as a mission. Impossible odds, slim chance of survival, and oddly enough, that does make him feel better. He tries to relax as he rounds the corner and walks in the front door. 

"Hi," he says, trying to sound casual. "Reservation for Romanoff?"

It's a nicer place than he would have chosen himself, but then again, he supposes that's why Nat didn't let him. It's just bright enough to be classy and just dim enough to be romantic. Again, not what he would have chosen.

"Ah yes, your companion arrived a few minutes ago."

So he can't even sit down and get the lay of the land before _Matthew_ arrives. Serves him right for dallying. He follows the slim man through the door, around a few tables. Steve tries to stop himself sizing up the room, but it's difficult not to. His eyes want to go anywhere but where they're headed. He pinches the inside of his wrist. He thinks he does a good job of disguising it as shooting his cuffs.

"Here we are."

He's not sure what he expected, but the man at the table is not that. Well-dressed, handsome in an understated way. Young-looking, with big dark eyes.

"You must be Matt," he says.

"And you must be Steve."

He smiles, although the line of his gaze doesn't quite reach Steve's face. Maybe he's shy. If he recognises him, it doesn't show, and Steve relaxes minutely as he sits down and unbuttons his jacket.

"Sorry, I seem to be a little late," Steve says.

Matt shrugs. "It's fine. I think I was actually a few minutes early, and it seemed a little crazy to spend the next ten minutes walking around the block a few times."

"Especially since you might have run into me, and that would have been awkward! Ahm. Have you been here before?"

"Once or twice. My partner and I don't get out of Hell's Kitchen much."

Steve pauses. "Partner?"

Has he missed something? Is this some kind of horrible misunderstanding? Matt nods, and unless Steve is imagining things, there's a hint of a grin there.

"I'm a lawyer."

"Ahh."

"Now I have to ask what _you_ do."

He bites his lip. His victory for the night is just getting here, so small talk hadn't really made it onto his radar. It occurs to him that Matt has absolutely no idea who he is, and a wave of relief rinses away some of the cortisol that's got his nerves jangling.

"I'm uh, ex-military. I work in security."

Close enough for government work, as the saying goes. There's the slightest frown on Matt's forehead, but he nods. He still isn't quite making eye contact. Maybe he's on the autism spectrum. Maybe he's just shy. Maybe it'd be best to stop overanalysing and just have dinner. 

"What do you think-- I like red, myself."

Steve blinks. "I'm sorry?"

Across the table, Matt looks slightly nonplussed. "The wine?"

"Oh! I'm sorry. I'm... I don't do this much."

"What, eat dinner?"

Matt smiles, and Steve catches himself smiling in return.

"I don't get out much," he says, then wishes he hadn't. "That... sounds kind of sad, to say it like that. I'm just-- I'm gonna stop talking and let you pick the wine."

His face is too warm, and he busies himself with the menu while Matt speaks to the waiter to ask him about a particular vintage. So much for feeling relaxed. The waiter retreats, and Matt frowns a little.

"It's not sad," he says. "I don't have much of a social life either. Hence..."

He shrugs. Hence the blind date. So at least they're on equal footing, more or less. Steve nods. He catches himself about to say _I haven't been out with anyone in a while_ and firmly tamps it down. Too many scars there, still raw and pink and tender to the touch. 

The waiter returns with the wine, and Steve suddenly, fervently wishes he could get drunk. Or at least just a buzz. Something to take the edge off. Matt lifts his glass.

"To getting out of the house," he says, smiling.

Steve rolls his eyes at his own awkwardness and clinks their wine glasses together. As he drinks, he looks over the rim of his glass at Matt, whose line of sight goes somewhere over his shoulder. Instinct takes over, and he glances back before he catches himself.

"Something wrong?" Matt asks.

"No, just... nervous, I guess."

Matt nods, looking serious.

"Well, I am pretty intimidating."

The comment catches Steve off-guard-- Matt's at most 5'10" and 175-- and he laughs before he can think about how that might be taken.

"Hey, I've learned never to underestimate people. It's the little guys you gotta-- not that you're little-- wow, I just keep putting my foot in it tonight, don't I?" He sighs and occupies himself with ruefully drinking his wine. "This is nice, by the way."

Matt nods. He doesn't seem offended. 

"So, what else do you do when you're not bench-pressing cars?"

Steve nearly spits wine across the table. Matt gives him a sly half-smile, and he thinks _yeah this could be good_ even as he's dabbing his lips.

"I had that coming."

"Nah, I'm just giving you a hard time because I like making you blush."

The heat in his face spreads. Thankfully, the waiter reappears and keeps him from making any more of an ass of himself. Matt speaks in a quiet voice, asking about what he had the last time he was here and nodding as the waiter responds. It doesn't occur to Steve until later that he's essentially asked for something that isn't on the menu, he's so flawlessly polite about it. He turns his attention (if not quite his gaze) back to Steve.

As they make chitchat, he starts to notice the way that Matt seems to be listening to him more than looking, his head tilted just so.  _Maybe he's hard of hearing_. He hasn't asked Steve to repeat himself, though. It's not important, so Steve refocuses his attention. It turns out they both grew up Catholic, and they manage a full thirty seconds of amused reminiscing about rulers and rosaries before Steve asks about Matt's parents. He can tell by the way Matt's face falls that it's not a nice story. 

"I'm sorry-- you don't have to--"

Matt shrugs.

"My dad died when I was a kid. My mom... wasn't around."

"I'm sorry." Steve could kick himself. "I lost my dad pretty young too. My mom when I was older."

Matt tilts his head in a way that Steve's starting to realise means _go on_. He doesn't really want to try to explain it, even with the strangeness of eight decades left out. Wonderful first date conversation. But Matt doesn't seem uncomfortable, so Steve lets it ride. The topic of conversation moves to New York. They have a spirited argument about whether Brooklyn or Hell's Kitchen is the finer place to be from. Matt has no opinion on sports teams, although he does raise an eyebrow when Steve slips and refers to the Dodgers, who haven't been in New York for decades.

The moment passes, and by the time they get up to leave, Steve's considering whether to text Natasha and apologise for doubting her. He keeps his phone in his pocket. Outside, the air's taken on a biting edge. He doesn't particularly want to go home, but it's a little too cold to suggest a stroll.

"... do you want to get a drink somewhere?" he asks.

Matt smiles. "Sure. Lead the way."

He takes Steve's elbow, and after a moment of pause, Steve decides to go with it.

"I know a place not far from here... although, it might be kinda loud." Matt's mouth compresses a little. Not Eddie's, then. "There's another one. It's more... upscale, I guess, but it's quieter. They do have really good cocktails."

"Some place quieter would be nice," Matt says.

They end up at a cocktail bar that Steve likes because it's just on the right side of pretentious. The clientèle is too hip for this world, but Steve's less concerned with them and more with his new friend. They find a quiet table and sit across from each other, near enough to hear but far enough for plausible deniability. Matt asks for scotch, and Steve has the same. Matt's taste so far seems to be pretty good, and this really isn't the sort of place you order a beer. The drinks give their hands something to do during lulls.

Matt keeps his hand close by his drink, touching the napkin or the table or the side of the glass. It's then that Steve notices that his knuckles are raw and bruised.

"Man, that looks bad. Are you a boxer?"

Matt's face goes carefully blank. "My dad was. I go a few rounds with a punching bag sometimes."

"Yeah?"

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but I'm curious. How old are you?" Steve pauses. What does he say? Subtract eighty-odd years? "... sorry, didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Steve shrugs. He kinda had it coming after asking about Matt's knuckles.

"It's fine. Older than I look, put it that way."

Matt smiles, head tilted in mild bemusement. Once again, his gaze doesn't quite reach Steve's face, but he's beginning to find it kind of charming. If he's honest with himself, he's beginning to find _Matt_ kind of charming. He might have trouble with eye contact, but his mouth is mobile and his lips are full and oh dear--

"What did you say your firm's name was?"

"Nelson and Murdock."

"That sounds really familiar. Wait. Aren't you the guys that exposed that businessman..."

"Wilson Fisk."

Again Matt's expression closes like a book. Steve breathes out.

"Yeah. That was..." He shakes his head. "Wish I could say it was shocking, but it's hard to shock me these days."

"I know the feeling," Matt says.

His voice is oddly flat, as if he's suddenly lost interest in the topic of conversation. His eyes are downcast. His hand closes, white-knuckled, and Steve wishes he hadn't asked.

"Hey. You okay? Did I say something wrong?"

Matt lifts his head again and offers a smile that's more effort than result.

"No, it's just... it was hard on all of us. I don't think we realised what we were getting into. I still don't think we've really recovered from it."

"I'm sorry." He bites his lip. "You haven't been... I mean, are you okay? Do you guys have security?"

"We'll be fine," Matt says. "We can take care of ourselves. Besides, Fisk and his cronies are in jail, where they belong."

The way he says it-- like he wants to believe it but doesn't, not quite-- breaks Steve's heart a little. He makes a mental note to make inquiries and see if he can't get someone to check up on them periodically. He reaches out to touch Matt's hand.

"You did a good thing. You beat the bad guy."

This time the smile is a little broader.

"Thank you. It came at a heavy cost."

"Doing the right thing usually does."

"'We must dissent from the indifference. We must dissent from the apathy. We must dissent from the fear, the hatred and the mistrust.'"

Steve cocks his head. "Are you quoting or just practising your rhetoric?"

Matt laughs. "It's Thurgood Marshall."

"Ah, right. I thought it sounded familiar."

"I use it to remind myself why I do what I do." He huffs a little. "That probably sounds so self-righteous."

Steve shrugs.

"It sounds like you've got principles, and you stick to them." He looks askance at Matt. "Well. Maybe a little self-righteous."

 _Not that I'm in a position to judge_. Matt's mouth pulls into a moue that quickly gives way to a smile. They lapse into silence, and then Steve sighs. He slaps the table.

"I think that's the sign that we need another drink-- unless you want to get home? You've probably got work tomorrow..."

Matt shrugs. "I don't sleep much anyway. Wouldn't be the first time I've come in hungover."

"Benefits of being your own boss, I guess," Steve says with a laugh. He motions for the waitress and orders another round. "I have to warn you, though: I'll drink you under the table."

"I believe it," Matt says, hands up. "I wouldn't want to challenge you to an arm wrestling contest either, come to that."

"No?"

Steve holds his arm up as if to challenge him, then drops it. His hand retreats, and Matt reaches out to stop it. Warmth creeps up Steve's neck into his cheeks as Matt's fingertips stroke Steve's palm, the lightest of touches. It sends a shiver up his arm that he really hopes Matt doesn't see. The urge wells up to lean across the table and kiss him. Steve resists, and not just because they're in public. It just doesn't seem right. Not in this particular moment. Maybe later.

It surprises him to realise that it's suddenly midnight, and the bar is closing. He pays the tab-- "I insist, unless you wanna arm wrestle me for it"-- and they go outside into the cold. For a moment they just stand there.

"Do you live around here?" Steve asks.

 _Does that sound like a come-on? Please don't interpret that as a come-on_. Not that Matt's not attractive, but just getting out on this date was an ordeal in and of itself. The prospect of navigating the currents of modern sexual conventions makes him blush in embarrassment in advance. But it doesn't seem to register with Matt as anything but a casual question.

"Not too far from here."

"Let me walk you home then."

Matt does that disarming puppyish head-tilt again.

"I'm a big boy, you know."

Steve sighs.  _Dammit_. He opens his mouth to apologise and catches the slow bloom of a grin. He grins back.

"Well, maybe I'm just afraid of the dark."

Matt pats his arm.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you."

He quirks an eyebrow. Matt's hand skates down his arm and takes his. He inhales just a little bit more sharply than he intended. Lets it out with deliberate slowness. Their fingers interlock, sending a bloom of warmth up from Steve's stomach into his face. At least now he can pretend it's the cold doing that, and not his proximity to Matt or the warmth of Matt's hand in his. And at least, if he's reading things right, Matt is just as reluctant to give up his company as he is Matt's. He considers going in for a kiss and thinks better of it. Maybe later. They start walking instead.

It's a quiet night, cold, and the wind's picked up since they went to the bar. They walk in companionable silence, Matt gently directs, falling back when passers-by dictate and then returning to Steve's side. A clot of noisy young people comes around a corner, laughing and bumping into each other. From the smell of it, they've had almost as many as Steve and Matt. Their little group sprawls across the sidewalk, and Matt lets go of his hand in the shuffle. One of them looks a little too long at Steve, but he keeps his face turned away until they're gone. 

When he's sure they're far enough away not to come back, he turns to Matt, who's also stopped to watch the kids walk away. He's not sure whether to reach out again or just leave it. He's still debating when Matt steps up to him. One hand rests against his chest. The other comes up under his chin, and Steve lets his eyes close, head tilted as Matt leans in to press their lips together.

Steve knows exactly how long it's been since he kissed anyone-- at least, he could calculate it if he had a mind to. Natasha had offered to help him practise and then expertly dodged the assortment of things he threw at her. The thought makes him exhale through his nose in a little laugh. Matt's lips curve into a smile. His tongue darts at Steve's lower lip. Steve opens his mouth and inhales through his nose as the kiss deepens and Matt's hands cradle his jaw. Matt's mouth tastes and feels even nicer than it looks.

Matt draws back, tongue flicking out, pressing his lips together. He gives Steve a smile and takes his elbow again, stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket. They walk on, long enough to make Steve wonder if they're taking the scenic route. Not that he minds. His stomach twists a little in disappointment when they stop in front of a building-- Matt's building. 

"This is me," Matt says. He hesitates, then stammers a little. "D-- do you want to come in? I mean, it's not-- I'm not propositioning you-- it's-- not that you're..."

He sighs, and Steve has to laugh a little.

"No, I get what you mean." His heart picks up its pace. "Uh... sure. I got nowhere to be-- as long as I'm not keeping you up. You really don't have to..."

 _Have to what, exactly?_ Steve closes his mouth and rolls his eyes at himself while Matt's back is turned to unlock the front door.

"The building's an old warehouse," Matt explains. "Turned into apartments. Like a lot of Hell's Kitchen."

"Mm. Gentrification. I hardly recognise my old neighbourhood sometimes."

The apartment is almost spartan in its simplicity. Nothing on the walls, neat as a pin. No television. Matt offers him a seat and then goes into the kitchen.

"Want a beer?" he asks.

"Sure."

"Sorry," Matt says, as if he's reading his mind. "My place is a little... stark. Or so I'm told."

Steve shrugs.

"I kinda like it. People have so much stuff nowad--" He catches himself, glances at Matt. _Nowadays-- you sound like an old man_. "Me included. It's kind of refreshing."

Matt tips his head again and brings the bottles to where Steve's sitting on the sofa. If he caught Steve's little slip, he doesn't let on. 

"I guess I like to keep things simple where I can. Life is complicated enough." He pauses. "I sounded like a complete dickhead just then, didn't I. I'm sorry."

Steve laughs. "So did I. Forget about it. I do like this place, though I bet it's a pain in the ass to heat in the winter."

Drinking his beer, Matt shrugs with one shoulder.

"Good thing for me-- my partner knits. I'm never short of warm things to wrap up in."

"That's... really sweet, actually."

Maybe it's the kiss or the heady ambivalence of being in Matt's home, but something about that mental image strikes him as suggestive. He thinks about how warm Matt would be if he shifted over and put an arm around him. Suddenly he wants to do just that. He's pretty sure Matt wouldn't mind. But he holds his position. They're both being so careful not to impress any expectations on each other. It would be a pity to throw off that delicate balance. 

_Or maybe you're just bullshitting, you coward._

"D'you mind if I use your bathroom?"

"Of course not-- through the bedroom, on the left."

Matt's bedroom is just as simple as the rest of the place-- almost monastic. Steve resists the urge to look around. He looks at himself in the mirror as he's washing his hands, frowns. He leans on the sink and sighs. Alone with his thoughts, he thinks about what he'd do or say if Matt asked him to stay. If Matt wanted more than a kiss. He's not entirely sure he'd have the willpower to say no, and that scares the hell out of him. 

He runs a hand through his hair and glances at the edge of the mirror. One of Natasha's many unsolicited pieces of advice was to go through someone's medicine cabinet. Natasha might have boundary issues. He takes out his phone and goes through his notifications. Surprisingly few texts from Nat. He wonders if she knows he's here. Then again, if she knew he almost didn't show, she probably does. She _definitely_ has boundary issues.

Matt is staring out the window when he re-emerges, looking pensive and maybe a little sad. Steve returns to the sofa to sit next to him. He reaches out and gently turns Matt's face back towards him for a long, slow kiss. He can hear and feel Matt's exhale. There's a hint of a tremor in it. His mouth tastes like beer and maybe the lingering remnants of the scotch-- or maybe that's just Steve's imagination. Matt's hand comes to rest on his knee, making him jump. His tongue is quick and clever. The implications send another wave of heat up Steve's back, and he stifles that thought for the time being. 

When they finally pull away, Steve realises that he's got to leave, or things will go further than he's comfortable with. _Maybe that's what I need_ , he thinks for a wild moment, but no. Discretion and valour and all that.

"I should go," he murmurs.

Matt's close enough for him to press another kiss.

"Okay."

They can't seem to resist another kiss, and then both of them laugh. Matt walks him up the stairs to the door. Awkwardness seeps in again.

"So... should I give you my number?" Steve asks.

"Sure." Matt takes out his phone and speaks into it. "New contact."

He hands it off, and Steve inputs his name and number. Matt calls him, then cancels so that Steve will have his.

"We should do this again sometime," Steve says, and he's not sure why those words are so hard to form.

"Yeah. We should."

Steve swallows. He leans in to give Matt a briefer, firmer kiss, and then he's out the door, out the building, onto the sidewalk. He stands there for a moment. Smiles to himself. It becomes a grin, and he sets off down the street to find a cab.


End file.
